


My Nightingale

by katillac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katillac/pseuds/katillac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having lost her parents, she hadn't expected anything worse could have happened to her. She hadn't expected to be diagnosed with Magus Devoramorbis. She hadn't expected for the magic she had been born with to be her downfall. She hadn't expected that when she finally met the one, her life would be measured in months. If she were lucky. But Cymbeline was rarely lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Nightingale

Kettle Crockery, the sign read. It was faded, but the neatly written words were still visible, looking ridiculously fancy for such a run down shop. A worn blue and white awning hung above the doorway, and through the windows you could see rows of intricate looking dinnerware. Besides the slightly dingy outward appearance, unless they knew any better, most might not have known the shop had been abandoned for the past six months.  
  
The girl standing in front of the shop knew, though. Better than anyone else, she knew why the homely little crockery had been abandoned for so long. Standing before the building, holding a purple umbrella above her head in attempt to shield herself from the dreary downpour, she merely stared.  
  
There were very few people out and about Diagon Alley in this weather, and those who were didn't seem to think twice about the girl who had been standing there for the last ten minutes. They didn't know that her name was Cymbeline Kettle, nor did they know that this was the first time she'd visited the shop since her parents accident.  
  
A portly man hurried past her, holding a newspaper above his head as he momentarily blocked her view of the building. A woman hurried down the opposite end of the street, fussing with her keys momentarily before opening the doors to one of the shops opposite of Kettle Crockery.  
  
But Cymbeline merely stared.  
  
Her mind felt almost blank, and despite the fact her gaze was resting on the shop, she wasn't truly looking at it. Hours before, her heart had been hammering against the cavities of her chest erratically, and her hands had been shaking so badly she couldn't even pour herself her usual cup of coffee. Today was the day, and her nerves were on end until she'd finally arrived. Now, though, she felt calm. Calmer than she had for months. So calm she almost felt dead inside.  
  
When she moved, it was almost mechanically. It registered with her that she would need to go inside, therefore that's what she would do. Her hands were still as could be, and her mind still empty of all thoughts. It was as though she'd taken all the emotions she'd been feeling, and placed them as far away from herself as she possibly could. She felt unreal.  
  
Reaching for the key, she slipped it out of her pocket before pushing it into the hole it was made for. Turning it, she felt the smallest of clicks, before pulling it back and letting it fall carelessly back into her coat pocket. As her hand reached out for the bronze colored knob, it didn't shake. Turning the knob slowly, Cymbeline merely looked ahead, through the few windows that lined the door. Lights off, dinnerware glimmering slightly from the small amount of clouded light pouring in through the windows. As the door opened, she still felt as serene as could be.  
  
And then came the voice.  
  
“Cymmie Alert! Everyone stop what they're doing, and look innocent! Cymmie Alert!”  
  
It boomed through the shop, causing a couple of delicately placed dishes to rattle, and it echoed against the sound of the rain pouring within the alley. The voice belonged to an older gentleman, and although the voice said it seriously, there was an underlying tone of playfulness.  
  
Cymbeline stopped.  
  
Cymbeline gazed in at the dark shop that had once belonged to her parents. The magically set alarm rang out once more, before the entire shop fell still.  
  
Her heart suddenly felt as though it were trying to claw it's way up though her chest, tearing it's way up her throat, trying to make it's way out.  
  
Trying to escape, trying to do whatever it could to stop the pain from returning.  
  
But it was stuck.  
  
Her heart was stuck, her throat was tight, and her eyes grew wet.  
  
Her hands were no longer still, and her legs suddenly felt weak.  
  
Cymbeline felt alive again.  
  
But her parents were still dead.


End file.
